


A Promise

by Lykegenia



Series: Kitten - Cullen x Maighread Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Gen, Haven (Dragon Age), Mages and Templars, Mages vs. Templars, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 06:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13711710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lykegenia/pseuds/Lykegenia
Summary: After receiving a letter from her family, Maighread Trevelyan is nowhere to be found. Worried for the Herald, Cullen goes looking for her, and overhears a conversation he was not expecting.Or, Cullen and Maighread continue to misunderstand each other, and Varric sees exactly where this is going.





	A Promise

Cullen stamped the last of the snow from his boots and stepped into Josephine’s office, his brows tangled in a deep frown. It was unusual for him to be summoned in the middle of the day, and more unusual still for the messenger not to give him a reason. His trepidation increased when he found not only the ambassador before him, pacing with habitual writing board in her hand, but also leliana, standing in the tense, coiled stillness he had learned meant she was deeply agitated about something.

“You sent for me?” he asked, to break the silence.

“Ah, Commander, yes,” Josphine answered. She kept pacing. “There is a matter, that – well…”

“The Herald is missing,” Leliana interrupted.

A sliver of dread slipped cold down Cullen’s spine. “What do you mean, missing?” he checked.

“Nobody has seen her since this morning,” said Leliana.

Josephine finally stopped pacing, but it was only to sigh and better tap her foot against the cold stone floor. The wrinkle in her expression mirrored the spymaster’s, which told him they had discussed the problem at length before deciding to involve him. He checked the impulse to flex his hand against his sword hilt.

“Have you checked she is not merely helping Adan with his tasks?” he asked, determined not to jump to conclusions about the behaviour of the Herald, a mage. After all, this was not the first time she had been difficult to find. On the first day after she had woken up and agreed to help them, several scouts had reported how she had gone exploring the valley around Haven, stalking the perimeter of the valley like a wolf testing the limits of its cage. From the snatches he had learned of her story – the time she had spent being hunted through the Wilds by rogue templars – it was not an entirely unexpected response, but it still rankled that she put so little faith in the people set to guard Haven.

“The possibility was considered,” Leliana said, breaking into his thoughts. “But Adan hasn’t seen her today. And, there is one other thing that leads us to believe this is a serious matter…” She nodded to Josephine, who held her gaze for an instant before breaking away to pick a crumpled sheet of paper off the desk. The ambassador passed it to Cullen with a distinctly sheepish look in her eyes.

“Her personal correspondence?” he guessed. “You read it?”

“It arrived this morning from Ostwick,” she explained. The Herald said she wanted nothing to do with her family, but they are very influential, and I thought they would at least want to know she was alive. I… erred.”

“We only read it after we found out Maighread was missing,” Leliana said. “I thought it might shed some light on the situation. I was right.”

“It contains some… distressing news,” Josephine added.

Against his better judgement, Cullen took the letter from her trembling fingers. In the Circle, he had disliked Meredith’s insistence that all correspondence between mages be read as a measure against uprisings and the spread of blood magic. Doing so now felt like a betrayal of everything he had left behind in Kirkwall, but if the Herald really was missing, then the whole world would be in jeopardy until she was found. So he read the letter. Every word drew his brows closer together as he absorbed the message’s pompous, empty platitudes.

 

_My dearest Maighread,_

_How happy we are to know you are alive! When we heard of the explosion in the Temple of Sacred ashes we feared the worst, knowing that your brother was there as part of Divine Justinia’s honour guard. That he has perished is a tragedy beyond description, especially as we held out hope when we heard of a survivor. Neither his memory nor his deeds will be forgotten, and we wish to reassure you that whatever past mistakes lie between us, and despite your affliction, we could never hold you in blame over what has happened._

_Though you are not Sean, the Maker in His wisdom has a purpose to everything He does, and our grief at your brother’s loss is matched only by our joy in finding that you have gained the title of Herald of Andraste. The efforts of this Inquisition are admirable, and your position at its fore will do us proud. The estimable Lady Montiliyet who wrote to us on your behalf has assured us that should the Inquisition require anything of the Trevelyan family, it will be asked._

It was signed at the bottom with a looping, ostentatious signature matched by the fussy-looking wax seal that marked the letter as an official document. To Cullen, it stank of a formality that seemed out of place for a father learning his daughter was the only survivor of a major disaster, and though he could never pretend to understand the nobility, the lack of sentiment in the letter set his teeth on edge. He could never imagine his parents – or Mia, Maker forbid – writing to him in such a cool tone. It sounded like Bann Trevelyan’s main concern was to establish himself as a patron of the Inquisition, to attach his name to the Herald of Andraste for whatever political leverage he surely thought he could gain from the connection.

“I’ll organise a search party at once,” he said, folding the letter away.

Leliana shook her head. “That would be unwise.”

“We were hoping you could look into this matter personally,” Josephine added, then blanched when he scowled. “Please don’t mistake me, but the situation at the moment is somewhat delicate. Were any rumours to start regarding the Herald’s lack of enthusiasm for her position, it could prove… unhelpful to our cause.”

“Not all who saw Maighread close the Breach approve of Andraste’s choice,” warned the spymaster. “Some of the templars in particular –”

“Former templars,” he snapped.

“They are suggesting Tranquility,” she finished, piercing him with her pale blue gaze. “We cannot allow fuel to be added to the argument for this, and we cannot allow an opportunity for those who might be daring enough to do more than whisper about this course of action.”

Cullen’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He felt his jaw clenching, and made an effort to relax it to avoid the headache that would surely come to him later. Who, he wanted to ask, were the ones asking to make the Herald Tranquil? After everything, after all that happened in Kirkwall and Montsimmard and the other Circles, had they learned nothing? And yet, he felt a slow crawl of guilt as well, because flawed and barbaric as it was, he could see the logic behind it. Once upon a time, he might have advocated it himself.

“Well, Commander?”

He nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll find her.”

* * *

 

Hours later, and he still had nothing. He had searched, fruitlessly, from one end of the valley to the other, and now that the sun was dipping below the horizon, taking the temperature with it, he was beginning to worry. There were predators in the mountains, and bands of wild druffalo that could easily be startled into charging, and that was without thinking she might be lost, or injured, or in the clutches of those who might harm her. He had decided from the start not to think the worst – that she had decided to abandon them – but if he couldn’t find her before nightfall, then he would have to return to find Rylen and organise a larger search party.

Standing on a bluff overlooking the lake, with the cold nipping at his fingers and the Breach an unsettling aurora overhead, he thought back to his first proper meeting with the Herald in the War Room, how wary she had been, how wound up from the brief walk to the chantry, when the people had lined up to stare.

“We only met for a moment,” he had said to her. “I’m glad you survived.”

Her eyes, almost black in the low light, had taken in his nervous smile, and then scanned the rest of him before they came to rest on the Sword of Mercy etched into his vambraces.

“Are you?” she had asked.

He idly followed the line of the horizon from the glimmering lights at Haven along the road towards the temple. He didn’t expect to see anyone; since the explosion, villagers and soldiers both avoided it for fear of bad luck, and with night coming on only those on duty would dare brave the cold beyond Haven’s palisade. And yet…

His eyes narrowed when he spotted the two figures on the tower bridge over the river. One was tall, slim, with a staff slung across its back, while the other, squat and bundled up in a red coat, was immediately recognisable. He should have known Varric would be involved, but the relief he felt knowing the Herald was with him was surprising. Huffing out a breath, he picked his way down off the rock and started across the ice.

He slowed as he got closer. The direct route across the lake exposed him to the wind, but its direction blew the Herald’s conversation straight to his ears, and in the dusk her words came all the clearer.

“But what if it _was_ my fault?” she was asking.

“Well, shit, I don’t know,” came the gravelly reply. “Do you think you’d be capable of it?”

Cullen spotted a green flash as she raised her hand to study the mark.

“I have no idea what this is.”

“Then what happened probably wasn’t your fault. And your family doesn’t know any better. Take it from me.”

“They never needed to know better to blame me for anything before,” the Herald grumbled. “Every fucking thing was always my fucking fault.”

Varric laughed at that. Cullen paused, surprised by the cursing and intrigued despite himself to see where the conversation would go.

“I know how that feels. ‘Varric, why are the accounts so low; Varric, why didn’t you invest in cotton when the stocks were cheap; Varric, why can’t you just settle down and make a nice alliance with this girl from the merchant caste – look, her parents are rich and everything!’”

“So we’re the family disappointment club?”

“Kitten, you’re looking at a founding member.”

Cullen sidled closer, wondering whether to interrupt.

“I didn’t think I cared about it anymore,” the Herald was saying. “I guess part of me was still hoping… but they washed their hands of me when they sent me to the fucking Circle, and nothing’s changed except now I have potential as a useful tool, instead of just an embarrassing secret. Sometimes I just wish – _who’s there_?”

Fire sprang into the Herald’s palms, her power drawn with a crackle of magic that made the hairs rise on Cullen’s arms. He couldn’t think beyond the instincts of his templar training, which tugged at the reserve where the lyrium was supposed to be, and lanced through his head to scramble his thoughts. She had her staff in hand now, and was advancing over the bridge with long, swinging strides that gave no doubt as to her intentions.

“Show yourself!” she demanded. “Before I start myself a little bonfire and send you to meet Andraste.”

“It’s alright!” he called through the fog in his head as he stepped out of the shadows. “Stand down, it’s just me.”

Varric slung his crossbow back over his shoulder. “Curly? I didn’t know you made a habit of eavesdropping.”

Cullen didn’t answer right away – he was too busy watching the Herald, who seemed slightly mollified by the dwarf’s relaxed tone, but who still had yet to extinguish the immolation licking between her fingers. It took a powerful mage to hold onto a spell with such control for so long.

“I was looking for the Herald,” he explained, though it seemed like a paltry excuse. “I did not mean to –”

“Worried I’d gone running amok?” she sneered.

“No.” He sighed. “Lady Montiliyet asked me to look for you when you did not return earlier.”

“And who better to find a mage?”

“I agreed to search for you,” he countered.

Something in his gaze must have given him away, because the fire in her hand disappeared with a soft _whoosh_ of air, leaving only the sickly green light of the Breach by which to see.

“You read the letter,” she said, but he couldn’t tell if it was an accusation.

“I did.”

For a moment they simply stared at each other, gazes laced with distrust, the impersonal resentment that had been built into each of them by years of mistreatment.

Varric cleared his throat. “Not that this isn’t a fascinating moment of character study, and I’m glad we’re all sharing, but can we please go do it somewhere else? This dwarf isn’t made for the cold.”

“Of course,” Cullen answered. “If you would, Herald.”

She scowled at the title, but slung her staff back over her shoulder nonetheless and followed Varric’s lead back towards the village. The dwarf walked between them, filling the silence with brittle small talk that reminded Cullen of hailstones rattling against a pane of glass. He rubbed his neck absently, all too aware of how the Herald’s gaze flitted from side to side, wary of the shadows behind every tree and large stone. At first, her paranoia irked him, her open hostility out of proportion given their situation, but as they walked he fell to musing: if there truly were murmurings about using the Rite of Tranquility, then could she really be blamed for her caution?

Light spilled out from the tavern as they approached, the sound of raucous laughter harsh after the quiet of the wind stirring over the snow. Varric made a beeline for it, the force of his personality pulling them with him, but Cullen noticed the Herald pause and cast an anxious glance towards the revelry, a sentiment he shared, if not for the same reason.

“Herald,” he ventured. “May I… speak with you?”

The Herald looked at him, a frown developing at the corners of her eyes.

“Hey Kitten, you coming?” Varric called from the doorway. “They got some killer salted peanuts in this morning.”

“Uh…” She took a step towards the light, but then hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to where Cullen stood, hands clasped behind his back, deliberately at ease in the thick fur of his mantle.

He offered her a small nod.

“It’s alright,” she told Varric, without moving. “You go on.”

“Alright, yell if you change your mind,” the dwarf replied. Over her shoulder, he caught Cullen’s gaze with a withering look and mouthed, _Don’t screw this up_ , with a meaningful arch of an eyebrow.

“Commander?”

He started out of his confusion. “Yes, Herald? Ah… yes.” He cleared his throat. “You seem to be… I mean… I wish to apologize.”

The Herald blinked, jolted out of her wary stance. “For what?”

“Can I walk you back to your cabin?”

He gestured with one arm. The path was well-lit, unthreatening through the open centre of the village – or at least he hoped so. For a moment he feared she would decline and follow Varric into the tavern, but she grit her jaw and nodded with at least a veneer of politeness, which was an improvement on earlier. She waited for him to set the pace, not quite trusting enough to let him walk behind her.

“You’re not our prisoner,” he told her as he fell into line beside her. “If it seems we desire to keep you here against your will, then… that was not our intention. The situation as it stands is difficult. The Chantry lost control of both mages and templars in the rebellion, and now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot, and our followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can…” He paused, noticing her frown. “Forgive me. I doubt when you agreed to walk with me you were expecting a lecture.”

“No,” came the steady reply. “But if you have one prepared it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

He flushed, resisting the urge to rub the sudden itch on the back of his neck. Though her voice was wry as ever, the vitriol had dropped from the Herald’s voice, leaving behind rich, sweet tones that reminded him of the deep summer shadows in his family’s orchard. A smirk twisted her lips, though she didn’t direct it at him.

“I’ll… keep in mind what you said,” she added instead, and the smile faded. “But I’m not going anywhere. If nothing else, it’s hard to run from the end of the world if you’re the only one that can stop it.”

They reached her cabin. Not willing to leave the conversation on such a low note, Cullen cast around for something to say.

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

She sighed. The hand that bore the mark clenched, and her mouth twitched as if chewing with a caustic reply, but it never came. Instead, her shoulders slumped, dropping the tension he had yet to see her truly without.

“Sean only became a templar because of me,” she admitted. “My parents encouraged it – he was ‘giving himself over to Andraste’ – but he just wanted to protect me, to fight injustice and keep people safe. He read too many Chantry fairy stories, and when he tried to raise a fuss about the treatment of mages in Montsimmard the family’s influence saved him from dismissal and got him transferred to Justinia’s honour guard instead. And now, he can’t protect anyone.” A frown lowered over her dark eyes, which seemed to shine more brightly in the torchlight.

“You don’t need to worry about me running away,” she told him, defiant. “I’ll stay until the Breach is closed. I’ll help. I said I would.”

“That’s all we can ask, Herald.” Cullen reached for her before he realised what he was doing, only wanting to offer comfort to someone so clearly in pain. What surprised him more was that she didn’t pull away, only stared down at the weight of his hand on her shoulder, and then to him, with wide, wary eyes.

He cleared his throat and dropped his arm back to his side. “Forgive me. Goodnight, Herald.” With a curt nod, he stepped away, already trying to chase his mind back towards the quartermaster’s reports that would inevitably be waiting for him. This was not a retreat, simply a respectful –

“The same to you, Commander,” she said, motionless as she watched him go.

He stumbled backwards, bowed again, cheeks flaming, and spun on his heel before he could do anything else to further embarrass himself, but the inscrutable depths of her eyes haunted him all the way back to his tent.

 


End file.
